


Unknown Trouble - Hunters

by ionthesparrow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ionthesparrow/pseuds/ionthesparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sheriff Stilinski, kicking ass, taking names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kink meme fill. Fun facts: the working title of this fic was "sheriff badassery" and it was written almost entirely in airport terminals.

Derek gets a running start, leaps, and is snapped backwards as he hits the end the end of the chain. He snarls and pushes himself upright. There is blood flowing freely from where his leg is snared, and his fingers are raw from trying to dig up whatever it is the other end of the chain is staked to. It’s deep, and he hasn’t had any success in uncovering it. Nor has he managed to snap the length of chain, or undo the snare that’s biting into his flesh. His thrashing has cleared the forest floor of debris in a six foot radius around the stake point, but otherwise he has nothing to show for it. And _whatever_ it is that attacked his pack is still out there, somewhere. 

In addition, Scott and Stiles are still out there somewhere as well, having willfully and deliberately ignored his entreaties to stay behind. And Scott has long since stopped answering him. Panting, Derek flips himself over to study his leg. He is really not interested in cutting it off, even if he did have a knife. He hears footsteps crunching through the leaves and whirls to face them. 

The beam of a flashlight passes over him, and a voice calls out, “Derek?” 

It’s the sheriff. Derek quickly smoothes out his features as the sheriff appears on the rise in front of him. 

He looks Derek up and down, then simply cocks an eyebrow at him. “Well this is quite the tight spot you’ve gotten yourself into.” He pulls his radio to his mouth and speaks into it. “Robbie – I’m about half a mile due east of the South Fork Trailhead. I need you to bring me a pair of bolt cutters and a first aid kit.” He signs off and walks up to Derek. “You need more than a first aid kit, son? You want me to call an ambulance?” 

Derek grits his teeth and shakes his head. 

The sheriff nods slowly. “Right. You want to tell me what you’re doing out here?” 

Derek shifts his weight, “Running.” 

The sheriff looks him steadily in the eye. “So you wouldn’t know anything about the complaint call I got – someone said they heard the sounds of fighting at the edge of the forest?” 

Derek rolls his shoulders in a shrug and flicks his eyes away. “No.” 

The sheriff squints at him and sits down on a fallen tree just beyond the perimeter of Derek’s reach. 

In the distance, the sound of crickets suddenly cuts out. Derek strains his senses trying to catch sign of what silenced them. 

“So,” the sheriff addresses him, an awkward smile playing across his face. “I don’t want to seem like I’m taking advantage of the situation but – Derek?” 

Somewhere out there, something is breaking twigs. And moving towards them. Derek glances back towards the sheriff. 

Sheriff Stilinski is frowning at him. When he sees that he’s regained Derek’s attention he drops his eyes, hesitating. 

Derek grinds his jaw, frustrated. The sounds are resolving into footsteps. They’re picking up speed. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise. 

“It’s just that,” the sheriff finally manages, “I found condom wrappers in Stiles’ trash can.” 

Derek jerks his wandering attention back to the sheriff. “Uh, what?” he asks intelligently. 

The sheriff looks almost apologetic. “I wasn’t trying to pry, really. They were just… there. When I took the trash out.” 

Derek’s throat is working, but his mind provides him with absolutely nothing to say. 

“Don’t get me wrong – I’m glad you guys are being safe. “ 

And at this, Derek – for the first time tonight – feels a touch woozy. 

“But, you know, he’s seventeen. And he’s not as worldly as you are.” 

The footsteps are _running_ towards them now. “I –” Derek’s mind finally catches up to the present. “I really don’t think this is a good time.” 

The sheriff holds up placating hands. “I know you deserve your privacy. But just give me a minute and then I’ll butt out.” 

Something is moving at the top of the rise. “No, really,” Derek says urgently, gaze flickering rapidly between the direction of the sound and the sheriff, “now is _not_ the time.” And with that, a burning arrow slams into the tree trunk next to Derek’s head. Derek throws himself backwards, and then the sheriff is diving to cover him with his own body. 

“I’ve got a 404H!” the sheriff yells into his radio, rolls, and comes up weapon out facing the direction of the attack. 

There’s movement in the bushes, but Derek can’t see their attacker. He realizes with sudden, absolute clarity that if something happens to Sheriff Stilinski out here, Stiles is never going to forgive him. He moves to come between the sheriff and the last place he heard movement. 

Another arrow launches. It goes wide but cuts close enough for Derek to hear the shriek it makes cutting through the air. “You fucking idiot!” the sheriff yells and shoves him towards the ground. “Can’t you tell they’re aiming at you?” With one arm the sheriff is aiming his gun, he has the other flung in front of Derek like a soccer mom in an abruptly halted minivan. Derek boggles at him. 

There’s a pause in the incoming artillery. Then a voice shouts out, “Officer! I don’t want to harm you, but that _thing_ is an abomination! He must be put down!” 

“Or, how about,” the sheriff answers, “you come out, and let me deal with the abomination. Since this is my jurisdiction and all?” 

There is a pause, and then a man comes careening out of the bushes in a full tilt charge towards them. He dives into Sheriff Stilinkski, clearly trying to tackle him away from Derek. The sheriff takes the momentum of the charge and flips the man over his shoulder. He lands in a heap. 

“Don’t move,” the sheriff warns. 

Apparently not on board with that plan, the stranger jumps up and comes at him again. The sheriff blocks his punch, twists the man’s arm behind him, and drops him with a well-placed kick. He cuffs the man, and leaves him face-down in the dirt. “Whew.” The sheriff blows out a long breath, “I’m getting a little old for that sort of nonsense.” 

Derek blinks at him. The sheriff smiles. 

Finally, Derek manages, “You have a police code for that?” 

“Derek, cops have a code for everything. And if you think anything happens in this town without me knowing about it – ” He breaks off and looks at Derek meaningfully. “Well. You’d be wrong.”


	2. Chapter 2

Later, Derek is seated in the back of Sheriff Stilinski’s cruiser, leg swaddled in increasingly extraneous bandages. The sheriff takes his statement, pointedly not asking why a crazy man with a bow and arrow set might think he’s an abomination. After they get a pretty heavily edited version of the night’s events down on paper, the sheriff looks at him, taps his pen against the clipboard, and asks, “Anything else you’d like to add?” 

Derek hesitates, twisting an empty water bottle in his hands. “We’re not – ” He breaks off as a deputy circles around the other side of the car. “I’m not.” Derek stares at his hands, face flushing a little and feeling ridiculous about that. “Stiles and I, we aren’t. I’m not fucking your son.” 

The sheriff raises an eyebrow. He looks skeptical. “Well,” he says, “true or not, we’ll leave that out of the official statement if it’s okay with you?” 

The following week, Derek is riding shotgun next to Stiles, who is driving them out to the approximate location where Scott has gotten himself lost. 

“Do you think another werewolf pack found him?” Stiles asks, eyes darting between Derek and the road. “Are there other werewolf packs nearby?” He pauses. “How many werewolves are there, anyway?” 

Derek stares straight ahead and does his best to tune Stiles out. 

“Do you all live in packs? Or is there, like, a lone-wolf contingent? Although, I guess even if there were, how would you know? Is there like a wolf census, or something? Are you guys on Meet Up? “ 

“Stiles!” he snaps. 

Stiles cringes. “Geez, sorry. I was just making conversation.” 

Derek rolls his eyes. 

Stiles takes in the gesture and, his voice heavy with sarcasm, returns, “Yeah, yeah. I talk too much, got it. You hate it. You hate me – I know. Everybody knows that.” 

This makes Derek smirk. “Your dad thinks we’re fucking.” 

Astonished silence radiates from the other side of the jeep. Stiles finally snaps his mouth shut and looks at Derek long enough that Derek has concerns about the jeep maintaining its heading. Stiles’ brow furrows. “He _what_?” 

Derek fights down a smile. 

“No, seriously. He said that? Why would he - or are you just fucking with me?” Stiles’ face flips rapidly through astonishment, disbelief, and panic before settling on confusion. 

Derek gives a tiny shrug. “He found your condom stash.” 

“My –” Stiles face turns a deep red and he lapses into silence. Finally, he asks, “Did he sound okay with it?” 

Derek glances at him sharply. Stiles sounds half-serious. “What? Yes? I don’t know. Pull over here.” They’ve reached the spot where the GPS last put Scott’s cell phone. Derek climbs out of the car and scents the air. Scott is somewhere nearby. It’s an ugly piece of road, all blind turns, and the new moon doesn’t give them much light to work with. Derek frowns. “Stay in the car,” he instructs Stiles. 

“Oh, hell no.” Stiles jumps out, slamming the jeep’s door behind him. “I didn’t drive all the way out here to wait in the car. Besides, what could go wrong?” 

At that, there is a flash of headlights, and a speeding car takes the curve in front of them too wide. Derek vaults the jeep’s hood, grabs Stiles, and presses the both of them flat against the side of the jeep. There is rush of wind as the car misses them by inches. 

Stiles has his eyes squeezed shut. Derek can hear his heartbeat racing. 

“Uh, hi boys.” Derek’s gaze snaps up. The sheriff has emerged from the woods, an extremely embarrassed-looking Scott with him. Sheriff Stilinksi gives him a significant look and raises an eyebrow. 

Stiles opens first one eye, then the other. He relaxes. “Hey dad.” Then he looks at Derek and clears his throat pointedly. 

Derek glances down, at where they are pressed together – knee to knee, groin to groin, - and at his hands, which at both gripping Stiles’ shoulders. He lets go abruptly and steps back. Even Scott is staring at them awkwardly. 

“Uh –” Stiles starts. 

The sheriff waves his hands, a touch desperately. “No, never mind. I was just – ” He reaches out and grabs Scott, dragging him over to Derek and Stiles. “Here. I found him wandering.” Sheriff Stilinski looks at Derek. “You should keep a closer eye on your _friends_.” 

Derek swallows, and reaches out to drag Scott into the jeep. “I,” he mutters, when the three of them are settled, and Sheriff Stilinksi is waving in the rearview mirror, “am going to kill _both_ of you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost all of this was written at LAX and JFK. I blame any lack of coherency on that.

“I think I know why my dad thinks we’re dating.” Stiles flops down on the couch next to Derek. 

“Your dad thinks we’re dating?” Derek frowns, and redoubles his efforts to ignore Stiles in favor of reading. “I thought he thought we were fucking.” 

Stiles looks at him as though he’s disappointed in Derek for drawing a distinction, but he recovers. “I think it’s because I’m always sneaking out of the house to hang out with you.” 

This, Derek concedes, makes a certain amount of sense. 

“Also, you touch me inappropriately.” Stiles nods to himself. 

“What?” Derek looks down at his own hands, like they might have wandered while he wasn’t paying attention. 

Stiles shrugs. “You do. Although mostly it’s the hitting kind of bad-touch, and not the fun kind of bad-touch.” 

Derek snorts, and silence hangs just long enough for him to refocus on the paragraph in front of him. 

“Maybe… we should be.” Stiles sounds suddenly shy, but his eyes are merry, and his tone is so perfectly half-joking, half-serious that Derek has no idea how to read him. 

Derek studies Stiles warily. “No.” He turns his attention back to the book. 

Stiles frowns. “Why not?” 

Derek sighs and drops his book again, exasperated. “Well, for one, the person with whom you were using those condoms your dad found might object.” 

Stiles colors a brilliant shade of red. He coughs. 

Derek sets his jaw and looks at him. “What?” 

Stiles shrugs and drops his eyes. “There, uh. There’s wasn’t anybody else, _per se_.” 

Derek arches an eyebrow, and Stiles turns an even deeper shade of red. “I was, um, practicing. Solo.” 

Derek feels his eyebrows climbing. “Practicing?” 

“Can we drop it, maybe?” Stiles is staring intently at the ground. 

“Yes,” Derek agrees emphatically. “We can definitely drop it. Anyway,” he says, turning a wholly unread page, “still no. Your dad is way too scary.” 

Stiles looks up at him dumbfounded. “My dad? My dad is totally harmless!” 

Derek gives him as skeptical look. 

 

 

As it turns out, it doesn’t matter, because they’re all going to die. Because there _are_ other werewolves, they have definitely noticed Scott’s wandering, and they are pissed. 

Scott is doing what he does best – clinging to survival and dancing on Derek’s last nerve. Tonight, this involves literal clinging to the lower branches of a tree. As soon as he drops the local alpha is going to take him out. Which means Derek is going to have to intervene, because despite everything, he really can’t let Scott get shredded. Which in turn, is going to cause the rest of the alpha’s pack to pounce on him and Stiles. Derek eyes the numbers. It doesn’t look promising. 

The local alpha snaps at Scott’s dangling feet, light glinting off her pearly white fangs. Derek growls. 

He is trying to figure out how to get Stiles at least clear, when there is a polite cough behind them. It’s Sheriff Stilinski, and he’s got some random guy with him. The sheriff waves. “Evening everyone.” 

The local alpha turns to face him and growls, low in her throat. 

The sheriff sighs. “He’s fine. See? Say hi, Charles.” 

The man standing next to the sheriff sketches a gesture of greeting. “Hi, hon.” He looks sheepish. 

The growl freezes on the alpha’s face, and melts into a look of annoyance that Derek knows all too well. “Charles, what have you done now?” she asks. 

The sheriff shakes his head sadly. “Charles has quite the grow operation going on.” 

“Hey man!” Charles looks irritated. “Those are medicinal. That’s all legal!” 

“And the ecstasy?” The sheriff asks. 

Charles drops his gaze. The alpha slaps one nicely manicured hand to her forehead. “Really?” 

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” the sheriff says rubbing his hands together. “I’m going to pretend to have never seen any of what’s in your basement. You’re going to let all my friends here go. And we’re all going to go home to nice, quiet evenings. Maybe play Monopoly. Watch a movie.” 

“Dad.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Nobody plays Monopoly anymore.” 

In the face of three pointed glares, Stiles raises his hands in defeat and shuts up. 

The alpha nods sharply, once. 

“Scott, get out of the damn tree,” the sheriff commands. 

Scott drops, landing in a heap. 

“Tell her you’re sorry for the intrusion.” The sheriff tips his head toward the alpha. 

Scott looks at Derek, who nods frantically. 

“Sorry. It won’t happen again.” Scott scowls. 

The alpha massages her temples. “Just get out.” 

 

 

Back in Beacon Hills, the sheriff looks from Derek to Scott to Stiles and back again. “Far be it for me to tell you guys how to run your affairs – ” He breaks off and looks at Stiles. “Except for you, I get to tell you how to run your affairs for another two years. But maybe you could keep it a little closer to home? For my peace of mind?” He looks imploringly at the three of them. 

Stiles glares at Scott. Scott rolls his eyes and looks to Derek. Derek squeezes his eyes shut and forces himself to relax the muscles in his jaw. “Yes. We will keep it closer to home.” He glances pointedly at Scott and Stiles, who both nod muleishly. 

The sheriff smiles. “Great!” He points at Scott and Stiles. “You two get out of here. Derek, a word?” Sheriff Stilinski waits until the two have left and then reaches out to put a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “I had to call in a lot of favors today, you get my drift?” 

Derek nods cautiously. 

The sheriff’s grip tightens. “Good.” He pauses then looks Derek in the eye. “Don’t fuck up again.” 

Derek swallows. 

The sheriff lets go; he’s smiling again. He turns to go, then pivots back and slips a twenty into Derek’s front pocket. “Oh, and take my son out somewhere nice for once. He’s always bitching that all you have at your apartment is ramen.” He pats Derek warmly and leaves. 

 

 

On Friday, Derek appears in Stiles’ window, studies the floor, scuffs a toe, and asks, “Would you like to have dinner with me?” 

And Stiles’ answer is a brilliant smile.


End file.
